


Thatcher's Secret

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance, Series: Secrets, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-05
Updated: 1999-05-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: "This is a Thatcher and Ray [Vecchio] story - but not in a romantic sense..."  Inspector Meg Thatcher has a secret, and Ray is helping her keep it.  Fraser is confused by their apparent closeness, and jealous.  But jealous of whom?  Ray or Meg?  ORIGINALLY archived March 9, 1997.





	Thatcher's Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Thatcher's Secret 

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Due South producers  
and no  
copyright infringement is intended.

**Rated R, hints of M/M, angst.**

This is a Thatcher and Ray story - but not in a romantic sense... It is fairly long, but, then again, I am constitutionally incapable or writing a *short* story. 

#  Thatcher's Secret

"I hate rape cases." Ray muttered to himself, as he picked up the file Welsh had dropped on his desk. Elaine, hearing this, glanced at him. 

"It is the hardest type of case to get a conviction." She sympathised. Ray made an impatient gesture. 

"It isn't that. It's tryin' not to shoot the sick fuck that did it." He said viciously. "And talkin' to the victims. It's heartbreaking to listen to that." Elaine nodded, fully understanding. Most cops hated rape cases. Some tried to deal with it by getting cynical and offhanded about it. She would have thought Ray would be one of those, cloaking his feelings in sarcastic indifference. But Ray was one of the good guys in sexual assault case. He was one who could put on a facade of patient understanding and he had genuine sympathy for the victims. He even kept quiet when a victim decided that pressing charges was just too hard, even if it did mean letting the bastard go. 

The case file was thin. The victim was fairly calm, cooperative and gave her story with commendable attention to detail. Ray's eyes widened and he swore softly when he read the victim's name. Inspector Margaret Thatcher, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. 

"Sir, why was I given this?" Ray demanded. 

"Sit down, Vecchio." Welsh regretfully put down his pastrami on rye. "You're a cop." 

"I am also the only cop on the Chicago police force that has a personal relationship with the victim." 

Welsh raised a brow and Ray hastened to explain. 

"She hates me, Lieutenant." 

"Vecchio. Ray. This involves Canadians. You have the most experience in dealing with Canucks. And you're good with these cases." 

Ray drove to the Consulate frowning. He hoped Benny wasn't on sentry duty. He didn't want to explain to Benny that Thatcher had been assaulted, not when he didn't know if he already knew. He knew Benny had some feelings for the Dragon Lady and he didn't want to be the one to tell him. 

Ray stopped in front and parked in his normal illegal parking spot. Cooper was on sentry. Good. 

He went up the stairs and glanced around. Ovitz was on the phone, speaking French so fractured that even Ray could understand what he was trying to say. Fraser wasn't anywhere in sight. 

With a casual wave to Ovitz, he knocked on Thatcher's door. 

"Come in." Thatcher was sitting at her desk, looking as cold and sharp as usual. 

"Inspector?" Ray put on his professional face. "I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may." 

Thatcher froze for a moment and a look of slight panic flashed across her face. Then it vanished and she nodded briskly. 

"Of course. Close the door." 

"I've read your preliminary report, but I'd like to get the story again, if I may?" 

"Detective Vecchio, please stop being so painfully polite." Thatcher said frostily. "It doesn't suit you." 

"What happened?" Ray pulled out his notebook, ignoring the ice. 

"Yesterday evening, my cat escaped from my apartment. I went after her. I found her and returned. When I put her down, I realised that there was someone in my apartment. A man. White, six foot, average build, clean shaven, no scars. Brown hair, blue eyes. He was wearing blue jeans, a black tee shirt and black leather jacket. Sneakers. Gloves. He grabbed me and pulled a knife. He forced me into my bedroom and assaulted me. Then he left. After about half an hour, I put on a coat and went to the hospital emergency. They called the police. The police took my statement and I went home." 

"Did you recognise your attacker?" 

"No." 

"Did you leave your apartment unlocked when you went after your cat?" 

"Yes, I think so." 

"Did you fight your attacker?" 

"Yes and no. I struggled until he threatened me with the knife." 

"Was anything stolen?" 

"No." 

"Did he say anything?" 

"Yes. He ordered me to keep quiet. He threatened to slit my throat if I fought back. He thanked me as he was leaving." 

Ray looked away, swallowing. Thatcher's voice was almost completely expressionless, but that last statement contained pain that was almost visible. 

"Is there anything else?" 

"Yes. I need to see your apartment. Would you like a policewoman to come with us?" 

"That won't be necessary." 

As she got her coat and cleared her schedule, Ray cleared his throat. 

"Yes?" She bit out. 

"Have you said anything to anyone here?" He asked softly. Thatcher froze again and again the expression of panic crossed her face. 

"No. The incident did not happen on Canadian soil, so I did not report it to Ottawa." After a pause, she added. "I didn't tell Fraser." 

Meg Thatcher's apartment was neat and tidy. Ray looked around, a bit surprised. 

"Nice place." He commented. It was homey, with tasteful and comfortable furnishings. The kitchen was almost as well stocked as his mother's. "You cook?" 

"Yes." Thatcher said briefly. "I like to bake." 

"Yeah, me, too." Ray smiled. "I make a devil's food cake worth losin' your soul for." 

Thatcher smiled, the first real smile he'd ever seen her give. 

"I never saw you as a cook." 

"I'm Italian. Italian men are either hopeless in a kitchen or cook like a demon. Ma taught me to cook when I was little. Of course, she doesn't let me cook for the family, but I'm not home for meals a lot, so I cook for myself." 

"I learned to bake when I was assigned to a small town in Prince Edward Island, when I first joined the force. My neighbours were always giving church suppers and bake sales, so I learned to cook so I could become part of the community." 

Ray started to look over the apartment while Thatcher made coffee and brought out slices of pound cake. 

"Is there a security door downstairs?" 

"Yes, but it's easy to get in. There's a lot of people going in and out of the building." 

"Which lights were on?" 

"Only the one by the table." Thatcher pointed to the table set up as a desk. It had a desk lamp on it. 

"So there wasn't much light in the rest of the place?" 

"No. I was working on some paperwork when Sheba escaped." 

"How did she get out?" 

"I had the window open. She jumped out and climbed down the fire escape. There's a plant in the front that she is convinced is catnip." Thatcher pointed. 

"It is catnip." Ray observed. "So you went down to get her. How long were you out of the apartment?" 

"Maybe five minutes." Thatcher replied. "I think I left the door open, but I'm not sure." 

"Did you notice any suspicious characters hanging about in the last few days?" 

"No. My neighbours across the hall are students and they have a lot of friends visiting." 

"Do any of them ever bother you?" 

"Only when they turn their music up too loud at night. I've asked them to turn it down once in a while." 

"How old was the guy?" 

"Mid twenties, I guess. It was hard to tell." Thatcher was getting tense, colder. 

"Had he been drinking?" 

"I think so. I don't think he had been drinking a great deal. His clothes didn't smell of alcohol." 

"Drugs?" 

"Possibly." 

"Inspector." Ray sat down and took a deep breath. "I need to know exactly what he did to you." 

"He assaulted me." 

"Inspector, you're a police officer. You know what sort of information we need to find the guy." 

"Very well." Thatcher said, after a very long pause. In clipped, short sentences, she described the assault. Despite the lack of visable bruises, it was a horrifying tale. The man had been in her bedroom for over two hours. 

She finished and turned her back on Ray. Her posture was stiff, painful to see. Ray went into the kitchen, keeping where he could still see her, yet not in her personal space. When she lifted her head, he poured another cup of coffee and, snagging a box of Kleenex on the way by, approached her. 

"Here." He said gently. She turned. Her mascara was running, but there were few tears on her cheeks. She took the Kleenex and wiped under her eyes carefully. 

Ray gave her the coffee and she sat down, sipping at it as if it would give her strength. He left her to it and went into her bedroom. 

It was a shambles. The bedcovers were half on the floor and one of the pillows was slashed and exuding foam bits. Clothes were strewn on the floor. He looked carefully, without touching anything. The police had already gathered evidence, including pictures, but he wanted to see if there was anything they missed. 

"I slept on the couch last night." Thatcher said softly, from behind him. "I couldn't face coming in here." Her voice broke in a sob. 

Ray turned and waited, carefully not touching her. She closed the small distance between them and clutched at him, her hands closing on his lapels convulsively. 

Ray held her, rocking her slowly as she cried, his heart aching for her. 

Fraser finished filing the staledated reports in the archive in the basement and went back to his office. Then he knocked on 

Thatcher's door. She had given him strict orders to report back to him when he was finished. 

"She isn't there." Cooper said, just coming off sentry duty. 

"Where is the Inspector?" Fraser asked, calmly, trying not to startle Cooper. He had a distressing tendency to get flustered in front of superior officers. 

"Gosh golly, I don't know." Cooper replied. "She went somewhere with Detective Vecchio." With Ray? 

"Why?" 

"I don't know. She didn't tell me." 

"Was she yelling?" 

"No." 

"Was Ray yelling?" 

"No." Cooper frowned. "They were both very quiet. The Inspector is usually quiet, of course, except when she's yelling. Detective Vecchio is usually yelling, of course, except when he's quiet. So she was behaving normally, but he wasn't." 

"Oh." 

Fraser went back to his office and started to clear his desk. There were always little tasks that needed doing. As he fiddled with inventory of office supplies, he wondered where Ray and the Inspector went and why. 

"I've changed my mind." Thatcher pulled away from Ray abruptly. "I don't want to pursue this." 

"Are you sure?" Ray's voice was gentle. He had been through this part a hundred times. 

"Yes. I can't..." She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "I've worked too long and too hard to let this get in my way." 

"Inspector... Meg... This won't hurt your career." 

"Yes, it will." Thatcher's voice was hard, her ice princess demeanor firmly back. "I've seen it happen. A female officer who is assaulted gets treated with kid gloves. Oh, the force does everything it can to find the criminal and everybody is sympathetic, but afterwards... Afterwards, the officer gets the soft jobs, the easy ones, the safe ones. And the glass ceiling gets thicker." 

Ray nodded. He'd seen it happen himself. Female officers had to prove how tough they were over and over again to get anywhere. Getting shot was fine, stabbings were okay, but sexual assault was still seen as weakness. The sympathy and the outrage of other cops was genuine, but it changed the relationship from one of the guys to needing protection from the bad guys. 

"Besides." Thatcher continued. "If this goes any further, Fraser will find out and I can't..." 

"You care about him, don't you?" Ray asked softly, not sure if he wanted an answer. 

"I don't know." Thatcher was getting control of herself and walked back into the living room. "I just can't face those big blue eyes looking at me. Wanting to protect me. Wanting to help." 

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Ray said, wryly. Thatcher, to his surprise, gave a little chuckle. 

"I guess you do, at that." She sat down. "Tell me, Detective, how do you stand Fraser sometimes? He has dragged you into some very peculiar situations." 

"He was just tryin' to help." Ray replied, sitting down as well. "I dunno. Those big blue eyes and the 'Mountie look' get to me every time." Ray stopped short, afraid he'd said too much. 

"You care about him, don't you?" Thatcher asked softly, delicately. 

"Yeah." Ray replied. Damn her. 

Fraser had reordered paperclips and computer ribbons, cleaned out the filing cabinet, fielded seven phone calls and rescued Turnbull from the bathroom before Thatcher returned to the consulate. He had been looking out the window by chance when he saw the Riv pull up. Ray got out and helped the Inspector out of the car. 

"As soon as the hospital report comes in, I can file it." 

"Oh, God." Thatcher groaned and grabbed one of Ray's hands. "I had forgotten about that." 

"We'll just have to hope he hasn't infected you with anything." 

"Or gotten me pregnant." She added bitterly. 

"Is that a possibility?" 

"Yes." 

"You'll let me know?" 

"Yes. So you can close your file." She tried to pull her hand away, but he kept it. 

"Meg. You shouldn't face this alone. Nobody should. Look, I can give you the name of someone to talk to. No connection with anyone official." 

"No, thank you, Detective." Thatcher retrieved her hand and sailed into the consulate. The Dragon Lady was back. 

Ray shrugged and followed her in. 

Fraser watched Ray talking the the Inspector - Meg - and holding her hand. He felt a rush of a most peculiar emotion. Jealousy. How dare Ray touch his Meg? Then another thought popped into his head, giving him pause. How dare the Inspector touch his Ray? He had just rearranged his features into impassive calmness, when Ray burst into his office. 

"Wanna ride home, Benny?" 

"Um. Yes, Ray. Thank you kindly." 

"What were you doing with Inspector Thatcher, Ray?" Fraser asked, then winced inwardly. That was a most tactless way to ask. 

"She was helpin' me close a case, Benny." Ray replied, trying to speak naturally. "Just business." 

"Oh." Fraser fell silent. "Which case? Is there something I can do to help?" 

"Nah. It's closed now." Ray waved a casual hand, but Fraser felt there was something more to it than that. 

"Does it have something to do with me and my helping you with your work?" Fraser asked, after a long moment. 

"No, it has nothin' to do with you." Ray snapped. He cut off a taxi and snarled in Italian. "Geez, Fraser, not everything has to do with you." 

Ray screeched to a halt in front of Fraser's building and Fraser got out. 

"I'll pick you up tomorrow." Ray stated, then floored it. 

Ray reported to Welsh, who sighed. 

"Another unsolved case." 

"Another scumbag rapist on the street instead of behind bars." Ray added. "Can't really blame her, though." 

"You never do." Welsh said sourly. "Well, file it with the others." 

"Lieutenant." Ray hesitated. "The victim prefers to keep this quiet." 

"I am aware that, Vecchio. The only ones to see the report are you, me and the two beat cops who took the original call. It'll stay that way. I guarantee it." 

Fraser had a bad night of it. Ray and the Inspector disliked each other. Yet, they were talking very seriously. That could have been business, of course, but they were holding hands. He had never held hands with either of them while discussing business. Come to think of it, he had never held hands with either of them at all. 

Ray had been abrupt with him when he had asked. Ray was often abrupt with him, but always told him what was going on. So far as he knew, Ray had no cases that would involve Inspector Thatcher. If there were issues between the consulate and the Chicago Police department, Inspector Thatcher would not have voluntarily sought out Ray. She hated Ray. 

Then again, she hated him, too. Until that kiss on top of the train, he would have sworn that Meg Thatcher hated him. If she was attracted to him, even when saying she disliked him, could she also be attracted to Ray? Ray wasn't a Mountie and Ray wasn't her subordinate, so that problem would not occur if there were tender feelings there. 

The thoughts went round and round Fraser's head until he was almost dizzy. He was making mountains out of molehills. He was imagining things. And even if there was something going on between his boss and his best friend, what was that to him? 

"Detective, may I speak to you for a moment?" Thatcher emerged from her office while Ray was grabbing a cup of consulate coffee on his way to work. Ray nodded and began to follow, Fraser in his wake. "Alone." 

Fraser hesitated. He had been taught not to eavesdrop, but he had to know what Inspector Thatcher wanted with Ray. Simply to prevent explosions, he told himself. Ray could be... volatile. He wrestled with his conscience for a few moments, then picked up a waterglass and held it to the door. 

"The results are back?" Ray said casually. He could not tell from her expression what they contained. "And?" 

"No diseases." Thatcher said offhandedly. 

"And?" 

"I'm pregnant." She said flatly. 

"I'm sorry." Ray said after a moment, meaning it. "What do you intend to do?" 

"I'm off to Ottawa for a conference. I'll be taking a short leave while I'm there. There's a clinic there." 

"Abortion." Ray said flatly. "Are you...?" 

"Sure? Yes, I'm sure." Thatcher snapped. "Do you have a problem with that?" 

"Yeah. I'm Catholic." Ray said quietly. "I know, I know. It's your decision. Part of me even agrees that this is the best way. But I wish there was another solution." 

"I wish I didn't have to make this decision." Thatcher said harshly. "But I did." 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"No, Detective, you've done enough." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Thatcher realised how it sounded. She glanced at Ray, who smiled. 

"That's an exit line if I ever heard one." He said. "Here. In case you need it." 

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. She took it. 

Fraser nearly dropped the glass. Quick as a flash, he put the glass back and fled to his office, just as Ray emerged, putting his wallet back into his pocket. 

His head was spinning. Thatcher was pregnant. With Ray's child. And she was going to abort the child. Money? Had Ray been giving her money for the operation? He knew Ray sometimes carried fairly large sums in his wallet. 

He didn't see Thatcher standing next to his desk, looking annoyed. 

"Fraser." Her sharp tone penetrated his thoughts and he looked up guiltily. "I'm leaving for Ottawa tomorrow. The schedules are on my desk. Remember to contact the University of 

Chicago on Thursday to arrange the talk for the Consul." 

"Yes, Sir." Fraser snapped out automatically. "Sir... are you all right? Perhaps you'd like to sit down." 

"I'm fine, Fraser." Thatcher's voice dropped several degrees. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"You look.... tired." 

"I've spent all day trying to arrange schedules so that Turnbull cannot possibly go near the upstairs bathroom more than twice a day." She said. "Just don't forget the consul's talk." 

Fraser was silent when Ray picked him up. Ray looked tired, too. Worn out. 

"What a day, Benny." Ray said, as he put the car in gear. "I spent all day interrogating a suspect who thinks he's a comedian. Nothin' but jokes the entire time." 

"What was he arrested for?" 

"Creating a disturbance. Seems he said the wrong thing to the wrong person." Ray grinned. "Said it was performance art. He caused a small riot, protested all the way to the station, then cracked jokes all through the investigation. Then he gave me twenty bucks, claiming it was fair pay for my part in his performance. It was deeply weird." 

"What did you do with the money, Ray?" Fraser smiled. 

"Welsh wouldn't let me keep it, so I put it in the squad room kitty. Jack said it'd make up for all the donuts Dief eats while he's there." 

"Ray..." Fraser started, then shut his mouth with a snap. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"What? I hate it when you do that, Fraser." 

"Do what, Ray?" 

"Say something, then clam up." 

"I didn't say anything, Ray." 

"Yes, you did." 

"No. I just said your name. That does not constitute the start of a conversation." 

"I hate it when you do that, too, Fraser." 

"Do what, Ray?" 

"That." 

"Please define 'that', Ray." 

"Fraser, you are the most annoying man in the world." 

"Please, Ray. You don't know everyone in the world. Perhaps there are more annoying men in the world." 

"Yeah, but they aren't sitting in my car, pretending that they didn't say anything when they did." 

"Ah." 

"I hate it when you do that, Fraser." 

"Do what, Ray?" 

"Say 'ah' like that." 

"Oh. Is there a way to say 'ah' that doesn't annoy you, Ray?" 

"No!" 

"Ah." 

"Would you stop with the 'ah's and tell me what you were going to tell me?" 

"Well, I was just curious about why the Inspector wanted to see you this morning." 

Ray froze. He thought of and discarded the first three lies that came to mind. 

"She wanted to give me a last bit of information on a case. Something that just arrived on her desk." 

"Ah." Fraser said, before he thought better of it. "I thought the case was closed." 

"It is. Now she can go back to hating me and I can go back to avoiding her." 

"Have you been working together on this case long?" 

"No. We weren't exactly working together, Benny. It was nothing important." 

Fraser digested this. Ray was tense, wound up, and Fraser knew he really didn't want to talk about it. 

"What's wrong, Fraser? Jealous?" Ray asked, attempting a lighthearted smile. It failed. 

"Now, that's just silly, Ray." 

Fraser sat in his bare apartment, absently dunking his tea bag over and over. He was jealous. He closed his eyes and imagined Meg, reliving the feel of her lips on his, for once soft and inviting. The feel of her body in his arms, the soft smoothness of her skin, the smell of her nonperfumed body. 

In his mind's eye, he reluctantly imagined those same soft lips touching Ray's, her head tilted up just a little, his head bent just a little. He saw the contrast between her pale skin and his light olive hue. The image was highly disturbing. Both slender bodies naked, sheened with the sweat of passion, making love. 

He could not quite imagine what Meg's blue eyes would show, but Ray's hazel-green eyes would glow with a tenderness that he rarely showed to anyone, his lips relaxed in a sweet, sensual smile... 

Why could he imagine Ray as a lover and not Meg? Of course, the contrast between the cold, brisk Inspector and a lover was more pronounced than the difference between Ray as a friend and Ray as a lover. And he knew Ray far better than he knew Meg. 

He thought he knew Ray, anyway. Yet he had been Meg's lover and fathered her child and never revealed a thing. If he hadn't overheard that conversation, his curiosity would have faded within a day or two and he'd be none the wiser. 

He ached for them both. Meg wasn't a motherly type, but the decision to abort was a painful and heartwrenching one. Ray, who loved kids, had agreed that it was her decision. Ray, who had lost one child already, agreed to lose another before it was even born. He must be hurting as well. 

The images in his head returned to haunt his dreams. He was on the top of the train again, with Meg in his arms. Only she was not wearing the red serge that brought out the rose in her cheeks and contrasted so well with her black hair. She was naked, gloriously so, her skin so soft under his questing hands. 

Then she was sprawled gracefully across his bed, smiling and inviting. He moved forward, but Ray came into view. He was also nude, erect and beautiful. 

He tried to move, to say something, but the pair were too intent on making love. Meg was biting her lip, her eyes glazed with pleasure as Ray moved slowly in and out of her. 

Suddenly, it was he who was making love with Meg, sliding into her, slowly moving over her panting body. He kissed her, his eyes closing and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. 

When he opened his eyes, It wasn't Meg he was holding, it was Ray. Hazel-green eyes looked into his, holding his gaze with a tenderness he had never seen in Meg's eyes. Lips captured his in a long, passionate kiss and he felt himself explode in a wave of pure ecstacy. 

Fraser jerked awake, his breath coming fast. He had flung the blanket to the floor and his groin was wet with warm stickiness, cooling fast. 

He sat up and mechanically began changing the bedclothes. He dumped the semen stained sheets on the floor of his closet and cleaned himself. Then he went to make tea. 

He knew that he was attracted to Meg, but he had not known that he was also attracted to Ray. Meg was a lovely woman. Her beauty pleased his eye and the very stiffness with which she carried herself bespoke a loneliness that he understood all too well. Ray, on the other hand, was Ray. Exuberant or quiet, troubled or confident, he was simply himself. It wasn't his physical form, or a desire to help that Fraser found attractive, it was the man himself. 

The scene he had heard was clearly a farewell. Whatever was between Ray and Meg was over. He wondered if Ray had been attracted by the same things he was, the hint of loneliness, and if she had been attracted to Ray for his joie de vivre, his sympathy and his well hidden sweetness. 

It was a tangled mess. He shared a closeness with Ray that he did not want to lose. This attraction had to be ruthlessly stamped out, purged from his consciousness. Ray would never, ever want him in that sense. Thus decided, he went back to bed. 

Ray sat at his desk, fiddling with a pen. Elaine watched him for a moment. 

"How did that case go?" She asked quietly. 

"The woman dropped it." Ray said in a frustrated tone. "It goes in the files with all the others, never to be seen again. It would never have gone to court anyway. No bruises, no forced entry, no hysteria. It's a sick world, Elaine." 

Elaine nodded and went back to work. Ray stared off into space for a few minutes longer. 

He was a little concerned about Inspector Thatcher. Abortion was a hard decision, even for someone as strong as her. He didn't want to feel sympathy for her. He didn't like her, didn't like the way she pushed Fraser around, didn't like the ice cold way she alienated everyone around her. He especially didn't like seeing the ice melt, even for a moment. It was easier to pigeon hole her into an uncaring dragon, with fangs. It was easier to hate her for her prickly personality than to acknowledge that part of his dislike was based on her effect on Fraser. Fraser had feelings for her and those feelings prevented him from acting on his own feelings. 

He cared about Fraser. Cared deeply, more deeply than he was prepared to admit or act upon. When he married Angie, he thought he had been doing the right thing. He loved her and he wanted kids. The family house, filled with childish laughter and toys to trip over had been his dearest dream. He had almost had that, too, with Angie. Yet the dream hadn't entirely come true. He tried for a long time to believe that the dream died when Teresa did, but there was more to it than that. He knew that it wasn't Angie he wanted, it was kids and family. 

Angie knew. Angie knew that, even in their most intimate moments, he always saw someone else in his mind's eye. A male someone, not the soft femininity of his wife. The image had never been clear. Not until Fraser came into his life. 

Thatcher was his rival and he had always been strangely pleased that she rebuffed Fraser. He didn't want Fraser to be unhappy, but he knew that Thatcher - Meg - wouldn't make him happy. She wouldn't understand his need to help others, his need to be useful. She wouldn't go along with his crazy plans, wouldn't needle him into revealing his own needs. She'd be too wrapped up in her own fears and loneliness to help him conquer his own. 

Yet, the glimpse of her pain made her more human and he saw 

something of what Fraser saw in her. 

Fraser saw nothing of Ray in the next few days. He was too busy trying to keep things organised at the Consulate. Thatcher's absence left a large hole in the schedule and it had to be filled somehow. 

In a way, he was glad of the time away from Ray. He had to deal with this, learn to act naturally, before he could face Ray again. He wanted to share the burden of guilt and loss he must be feeling over his unborn - never to be born - child. But Ray had not confided in him and he could not admit that he had listened in on a very private part of Ray's life. 

And he had to learn to deal with Thatcher. She would be back in ten days. Ten days to figure out how to help her without revealing what he knew. Ten days to find a way to tell her that he cared that she was hurting. Ten days to find a way not to imagine her in the arms of someone he loved. Ten days to find a way not to hate her for that. 

Thatcher arrived home to find a note on her door. She read it and hastened inside before her eyes overflowed with tears. 

"Inspector - I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of tidying up a little. Your lock is far too easy to pick, so I replaced it. The key is enclosed. Ray Vecchio" 

She went around the apartment, taking in the changes. Vecchio had not done much. The dishes were washed, the coffee maker full and ready to be switched on and a large chocolate cake stood on the counter. 

The only change was the bedroom. She had not been able to face the room since the attack. Ray had rearranged the room slightly and changed all the linen. There was also a gay crocheted afghan across the foot, giving the room a cheerful air. The whole room was cleansed of the taint of pain, transformed back into a safe haven, without making it strange. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. Damn him. Damn him and his kindness. She didn't like the brash cop, never had. He was loud and obnoxious and... and American. This unexpected kindness, unwelcome sweetness hurt. 

Ray interfered with her job, taking Fraser away from the Consulate and his real job so often that she wanted to send a bill to the Chicago PD for his salary. She permitted it only because it was damn fine PR for the Consulate. The sheaf of commendations from the US State Department to RCMP HQ and the Department of Foreign Affairs made her look very good. 

She hated him, fury rising in her throat. How dare he pity her? How dare he presume to understand what she was going through? How could he possibly understand the helpless terror? Or the feeling of emptiness when the tiny scrap of potential life was scraped out of her? 

Ray was enjoying having breakfast at home for a change. A leisurely breakfast of pancakes, bacon, lashings of the maple syrup Fraser had given to him. Excellent coffee and, to top it all off, out of season melon, perfectly ripe. Best of all, he was alone to enjoy this. The others were all out on various errands. There were compensations to doing an overnight stakeout. 

The doorbell echoed loudly and Ray wiped his hands on a tea towel. The pancakes would hold just long enough to answer the door. Maybe Fraser decided to take him up on the invitation. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to share breakfast with Fraser, but it would do. 

When a stormy Meg Thatcher strode past him, he muttered to himself in Italian. Another perfect moment shot to hell. 

"Watch your language, Detective." Thatcher snapped, in Italian. 

"This is my house, Inspector." Ray shot back, then hurried into the kitchen. His pancakes were perfect, ready to be turned over. He did so carefully, then turned to Thatcher. 

"And what can I do for you, Inspector?" He was perfectly polite, even gallant. 

"What the hell do you mean by sneaking into my apartment?" 

"I didn't sneak in. I broke in." Ray corrected. "If you wanna press charges for a B and E, I can file your complaint this afternoon." 

"How could you?" 

"I thought you might want to come home to a clean apartment. And, I admit, I was a little concerned about the locks. No need to set yourself up for a repeat performance. Benny's do gooder attitude must be rubbin' off on me." 

"I don't need your pity." Thatcher said fiercely. 

"Good. 'Cause you don't have it." Ray replied. He lifted the pancakes out of the pan. "Want some?" 

"No." 

"I don't pity you. What happened to you shouldn't happen to anyone. You have my sympathy for having to deal with that. If I were to pity you, I'd pity you for being such a cold hearted bitch that you can't accept a simple gift of kindness." Ray continued, filling two plates with breakfast. "Here. Nobody 

leaves to the Vecchio house hungry." 

Thatcher reluctantly picked up a fork and nibbled at a bit of bacon. It looked very good and she was hungry. 

"I don't like you, Inspector. And I know you don't like me. Don't mistake my actions as an offer of friendship. I tried to make your homecoming a little easier because I know what a bitch it is to clean up after a crime. Some people prefer to do it themselves, to have control over the situation, but when you left it like that, I knew you weren't one of them." 

"I didn't have time to clean up, Detective. I don't need your approval for my housekeeping." 

"Why is it so damn hard for you to accept anybody's help?" 

"Because I can handle it on my own." Meg said tightly. "I have to." 

"Yeah, I guess you do." Ray shook his head. "Eat your breakfast. If you aren't too proud to accept a lift, I can drive you to work." 

"That won't be necessary." Thatcher replied, then added. "It isn't pride. I don't want to leave my car here." 

Fraser was proud of his professionalism when he greeted Thatcher when she came in. Her eyes looked puffy and her makeup was a bit crooked, but she looked as cold and unapproachable as before. That made it easier for him. He managed to hide both his automatic offer of help and his instinctive fear of her as he saluted and reported the events of the last ten days. 

Thatcher glanced at the duty roster of the last few days and promptly dismissed him. 

"My overtime budget won't cover this, Constable. Take time off in lieu." Then she went into her office and closed the door. 

Having nothing else to do, Fraser decided to go see Ray. Ray had the day off. Maybe they could play basketball or something. 

Ray was still sitting at the kitchen table when Fraser arrived. He had finished his breakfast and was reading the last few days worth of newspapers. He was bothered by Thatcher's visit. Even in the midst of pain and terror, she kept her icy defenses up. He could understand that and he didn't want to. Pushing away people, standing alone in a crisis was a reaction he was all too familiar with. He did it so often that it was automatic. Yet, unlike her, he could open up. He could accept help. Benny had taught him that, along with how to make a lean to and more about Inuit culture than he really wanted to know. 

Fraser knocked on the door, then let himself in. He didn't like using the doorbell. It was too intrusive, somehow. 

"Hi, Benny." Ray called, not moving from his chair. "Help yourself to some coffee." 

"Thank you kindly." Fraser filled the kettle and put it on to boil, correctly interpreting the offer of coffee as permission to make tea. 

"I thought you were working today." Ray continued, folding the paper. 

"I was. However, Inspector Thatcher would prefer I took time in lieu for all the overtime I put in this last week." 

"I guess she likes going over budget about as much as Welsh does." Ray grinned. "So we both have the day to ourselves. Anything you wanna do?" 

"I thought we could fire some hoops." 

"Shoot." 

"Pardon me?" 

"Shoot some hoops, Benny. Mano a mano, eh?" 

"Well, yes. Basketball is an excellent exercise..." 

"Save your breath, Benny. You're gonna need it." 

Fraser was beginning to like playing one on one basketball. The game itself, despite being invented in Canada, didn't interest him much, but the cameraderie, combined with physical exercise, appealed to him very much. Ray kept the rules simple and, despite the fact that Ray always won, it was fun to watch Ray try out fancy moves. Pick up basketball seemed to be the American equivalent of shinny. 

"Had enough?" Ray asked, grinning and puffing, basketball in his hands. 

"Yes." Fraser gasped. He was stripped to his undershirt, having discarded the flannel shirt long since. Ray glanced at him and turned away. Fraser was so damned attractive with muscles shiny with sweat. 

"Are you all right, Ray?" Fraser asked, concerned. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Ray led the way back into the house and poured some water. 

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Fraser asked quietly. 

Ray hesitated for a long moment. 

"No." "Are you sure, Ray?" Fraser asked quietly. 

"Yeah, I'm sure. What is it with you, Benny? You're acting wierd again." 

"I thought you might want to talk about... Meg." Fraser said, selfconsciously. Ray's eyes widened. 

"She told you." His voice was flat and expressionless. 

"Well..." Fraser hesitated, but Ray continued. 

"I'd have thought you'd be the last person she'd confide in. She didn't want you to know." 

"I got that impression." Fraser said carefully. "I'm so sorry, Ray." 

"Yeah, so'm I. She's a real bitch most of the time, but I 

really do feel sorry for her. Tough thing to have happen." 

"I'm sorry for you, too, Ray." Fraser said softly. 

"Me? It's go nothin' to do with me, Benny. Not anymore. My part in all this is done, since Thatcher decided not to go through with it." 

Fraser didn't say anything, just reached out with a friendly, sympathetic squeeze on the arm, blue eyes glowing with sympathy. 

Ray frowned. What in hell was Benny looking at him like that for? Sure, he felt badly about not putting that rapist behind bars, but sympathy was not called for. Benny was a cop, too. He knew about these cases. 

"If you need to talk..." Fraser said softly. Ray, by now thoroughly confused, shook his head. 

"No, Benny. There's nothing to talk about." 

"Understood." 

Ray suddenly understood what Benny was trying not to say and turned away to hide the twitch of his lips. Benny didn't know about the rape, but somehow had found out about Thatcher's pregnancy and leaped to the wrong conclusion. He was about to correct that particular assumption, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Thatcher did not want him to know about it. And he was an RCMP officer, with a strong sense of duty. He would not be able to keep quiet about this. He would let his superiors know that one of their officers had been attacked and Thatcher's fears would come true. 

It was a funny image, though. Thatcher and him, a couple? Ray was hard pressed not to laugh. 

Fraser saw Ray turn away abruptly and thought he understood. Taking a deep breath, he launched into an Inuit story, wanting to change ths subject away from something so obviously painful for his friend. 

Thatcher looked less than pleased. She gave Ray a frosty smile, more frightening than a snarl would have been. 

"So what do you want, Detective?" 

"Two things." Ray replied. "One, are you sure you don't want to reconsider pressing charges?" 

"Quite." The Yukon was warmer than her voice. 

"Two, I spoke to Benny a couple of days ago. It seems he put two and two together and came up with five." 

"Which means?" 

"Which means Benny thinks that you and I had something going and that the kid was mine." 

Thatcher looked absolutely flabbergasted. Then her lips twitched. 

"How absurd." She managed to say before she laughed. Ray laughed as well, until Thatcher suddenly stopped. 

"What's wrong?" 

"It is funny, Detective." She said softly. "But it seems wrong to laugh about a child's death." 

"A child?" Ray quirked an eyebrow. "You were less than a week along. Most people wouldn't consider a week old fetus to be a child." 

"I do. I'm Catholic, too. It was very hard to..." She straightened. "You wouldn't understand." 

"You're wrong." Ray spoke very quietly. 

"Wrong? How do you know what losing a child means?" 

"I found out the day Teresa died." 

"Who is Teresa?" 

"My daughter. She died within hours of being born." Ray sounded perfectly calm. "Angie and I broke up not too long after that. We had other problems, but Teresa's death brought it to a head." 

"I'm sorry." Thatcher said automatically, mentally kicking herself. She had not known that Ray had been married, or had had children. 

"It was a long time ago. It does get easier, Meg, really it does." 

"Does it?" 

"Yeah." 

Ray went with Thatcher to St. Matthew's church. He knew she needed to light a candle for the life she had carried, to confess to God and be absolved. The priest may not understand, but surely God would. 

He crossed himself and lit a candle for Teresa, as he often did, as he waited. Thatcher got up from her knees and lit a candle, then abruptly left. He followed. 

"Go away, Detective." 

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" 

"Yes." She started to walk away, then turned. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Fraser watched from a discreet distance, then turned so neither of them would see him. He walked home, his heart heavy. It was hopeless. He could have loved Meg, but she pushed him away, froze him out, until the tender feelings died from frostbite. The newly awaken feelings for the slender man with her would continue to be warmed by friendship, but would never blossom into anything more. They couldn't, not while the man he loved and the woman he had loved shared a grief so strong. Despite the antagonism Ray and Meg seemed to have, Meg would always be there, between them, keeping them apart. 

Meg went home and cried for a while. Ray's kindness and sympathy had opened the floodgates of feelings and she couldn't bury them any longer. She felt worse than she ever had. And better. She was beginning to heal. 

She knew that Fraser's mistaken impression should be 

corrected, but she vowed she wouldn't do it. If he thought she was grieving over her lost lover and lost child, perhaps he would stop looking at her with that hope in his eyes. Their relationship was never meant to be and if he could get over what tenderness he had for her, maybe he would open his eyes to what she had guessed long ago. 

Ray went home, wishing he could live a lie. It would be so easy to accept Fraser's sympathy. So easy to allow Benny to comfort him over his supposed loss. Instead, he would keep Thatcher's secret. And his own. 

* * *


End file.
